A Song for the Lost
by LordDerrick
Summary: Harry Potter died chasing his godfather through the Death Veil. The war is coming to a close, and all know that it is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord proclaims victory by taking Hogwarts. Dumbledore is alone in his guilt, Hermione is shaken by her love, Luna is depressed, and the darkness draws near. From the shadows there burns a light. Harry/multi, HP/Star Wars x-over.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling and George Lucas own it all.**

**A/N: A Harry Potter/Star Wars crossover I came up with on a whim. Technically, this is a repost. Much has changed, including the addition of a new character that will affect the entire dynamic. Tell me what you think.**

**A Song of the Lost**

**Chapter One**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore took a sip from the golden goblet on the table in front of him. The pumpkin juice burned going down his throat. He grimaced. A shiver traced his spine, spreading to his extremities in a wave of induced ecstasy sweet enough to make his toes curl. The brandy he had spike the juice with did the trick.

"Wonderful juice," he proclaimed to the other professors at the staff table.

Minerva McGonagall smiled sadly at her mentor and friend. "Yes," she said, the word hesitant, paused as if there might be more she wanted to say.

Dumbledore might be drunk, but he was not the most powerful wizard in the world for nothing. He easily picked up on the quiet in her voice. Gingerly, he reached out a hand and took one of hers. "My dear Professor McGonagall, have I not always encouraged you to be honest with me and speak freely?"

McGonagall nodded, meeting his twinkling eyes with her own. Her Occlumency barriers snapped into place on instinct. Even if on the surface she did not believe the Headmaster would try and pry into her thoughts, it was best to be prepared. Powerful wizards had habits of dipping into actions that were unsavory even without realizing that they were doing so.

"You seem distracted, Albus," she started, her voice soft and unassuming. "I have been worried about you since that night."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed and his eyes darkened for the briefest of moments. He did not need to be reminded of that night, not now, not at the Welcoming Feast. He tossed and turned at night enough without McGonagall laying into him about it, too. He knew that his inaction had caused Harry to lead his little band to the Ministry of Magic that night. His lack of good judgment had cost the life of a boy he cared for deeply and doomed the fate of wizarding Britain.

"My dear," he said, tension straining the words, "I appreciate your concern, but I fear there are some things that kind words cannot help." He took another sip of his pumpkin juice, grimacing less than before as the alcohol dulled his taste buds.

"Albus, that is ridiculous. This isn't about me trying to ease your suffering with soothing words. It is simple fact. The Veil is something that can never be accounted for. How were you to know that he would go to the Ministry or that he would chase Sirius through the Veil of Death? You are blaming yourself for something you could not control," she said in a low voice.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Minerva, there are things in this world that you do not understand, cannot understand. I am powerful, perhaps too powerful, but it does not change the fact that I failed. Because of that power, I should have been able to do something. Those with great power do have great responsibility. Harry was, perhaps, my greatest responsibility."

"Many young wizards and witches have died without you blaming yourself for their deaths, Albus," McGonagall countered. She pointed out to the crowd of students, a fake smile plastered on her face as she looked out at them. "How many are not here that should be. Harry Potter is not the only student missing from our ranks."

Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair. He did not smile, forgetting about the students watching them. He hung his head in shame. Long strands of white hair fell around his face, covering it in a manner very unbecoming of the normally dignified Headmaster. Several of the other professors and a few of the students looked quizzically at the man they hailed as their leader, a beacon in an ocean of darkness.

"It is too late for us, Minerva. You don't understand. Everything has changed. Harry Potter was all that stood between Voldemort and global domination. The Dark Lord will continue to rise just as sure as Harry fell," Dumbledore said morosely. And he meant every word. The loss hung thick in his voice. Logically, he knew that a prophecy was little more than words. Fate was never set. Freewill dominated everything that a mortal did; only immortals were bound by unbreakable rules and laws. That's what made mortals so dangerous. Nothing restrained a mortal but him or herself. Only self-imposed barriers prevented them from reaching the stars and bringing them down on the world.

Logically, he knew this.

In this case, however, logic did not matter. He just felt pain and loss. A hole opened in his heart, a hole that could not be filled. The love he felt for the Boy-Who-Lived was that of a concerned father, a father who had sacrificed his son foolishly. Despite McGonagall's arguments to the contrary, it had been his fault. The guilt of Harry Potter's demise rested on him alone.

Only three months earlier, Harry had escorted a group of his friends to the Ministry of Magic in order to stop the Dark Lord Voldemort from killing his godfather, Sirius Black. The whole ordeal with Black had been a façade to draw Harry to the Ministry. As soon as the group arrived, deatheaters sprang their master's trap and attempted to capture Harry.

Harry and his friends, thanks to their time practicing with the DA, proved to be more of a challenge than the deatheaters had expected. While the students did not defeat their much more experienced adversaries, they were able to surprise them and hold them off until the Order of the Phoenix arrived.

With the Order present, the tide of battle turned. In a desperate effort to thwart her would-be captors, Bellatrix Lestrange hurled a wild curse at Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. The spell connected. While it did not do much physical damage, the energy from the impact knocked Sirius off-balance. The wizard fell over and tripped into the Veil of Death, an ancient artifact of unknown origin. Harry, having watched his godfather fall, chased after him and flung himself into the veil in pursuit of the last of his family.

While the deatheaters were eventually defeated and the Dark Lord thwarted, the loss had been heavy. All present agreed that to lose Harry and Sirius was a greater blow to morale than anything the Dark Lord could have done at the Ministry. The trap had been set, and Dumbledore had allowed the entire Order to be fooled. His mistake had cost them their hero.

A sudden prickling along his skin made the Headmaster look up from his sullen wallowing. The air in the Great Hall bristled with an influx of magic. Candles around the room flickered, their lights casting shadows along the walls and floors. The Headmaster stood, surprise and confusion written across his face. He reached for his wand, but his dulled senses slowed his reaction time. He felt the curse coming before it hit, but he was took slow, the drunken haze to thick. He watched helplessly, numb fingers grabbing at the Elder Wand within the arm of his robe, as the massive double doors of the Great Hall exploded inward in a shattering of splintered wood and a massive mountain troll led in a host of masked wizards.

Hogwarts was under attack.

* * *

Fifth year.

Why? Why did she have to do another year in her own personal hell?

Luna stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower's open windows. The cold September air blew through her dirty blonde hair. Her wide, silvery grey eyes watered as the air brushed against them. For a moment, a fleeting moment, she felt alive.

But the lie could not hold for long. No matter what she told herself, she could not cover the truth. She knew what awaited her. The path had already been written out. The coming year only held more pain, more ridicule.

Nothing changed.

Her only savior had been a dark haired boy with green eyes. Fate surrounded him. If Harry had still been alive, everything would have changed. Voldemort would die. She would find love. The world would be at peace. Unfortunately, when the Boy-who-lived died, the entire world felt the shockwaves.

Now, earth would burn.

It would burn without her.

Luna Lovegood stepped up to the edge of the stone, her bare feet stepping lightly, her toes curling around the end and hanging off. The wind blew harder. She grabbed the wall to keep from falling.

She didn't want to fall. She didn't want anyone to think this was an accident. She wanted to jump, to act purposefully. To die because she chose to die. In that one way, at least, she had power over her fate.

The blue robe slipped from her shoulder. She wore a black bra that made her pale skin stand out. The small, thin fabric that created her panties matched the bra. She reached between her breasts and undid the clasp. The bra fell, exposing her breasts to the night. She watched it become smaller and smaller as it descended until finally it stopped, catching on one of the lower spires. Would they find her impaled on that same spire?

Her fingers slipped through the strings that held up her panties. Slowly, she began to nudge them down her legs.

The first spell hitting the castle wards brought her out of her daze.

Luna tumbled back under the impact, falling hard on the stone floor behind her. It took her a moment to realize that she was not dead, that she had not jumped.

A moment later, the sky filled with a burst of orange and yellow light followed by a streaking metallic flying object that glide through the air before slowing and descending.

Luna crawled over to the window, grabbing for her robe and bringing it around her body, suddenly not caring to complete what she had come to do. She watched, fascinated, as the object – easily the size of a house – shifted and folded in on itself and landed in front of the door that led to the Entrance Hall. It sat there for a moment, unmoving, before it hissed and vapor shot out from an opening that appeared. A ramp extended.

Luna gasped, unable to believe her eyes as she watched a single man in all black return to the world of the living.

* * *

It took all Hermione Granger could do not to cry over the food in front of her. Ron, clueless as ever, shoveled food into his overly large mouth. Bits of meat and speckles of bangers hung from his mouth and dotted the front of his robes. She tried not to vomit and looked to Ginny for support. The red haired beauty didn't notice, though, as she was leaning against Dean Thomas, playfully batting at the boy's shaggy hair and grinning. That almost sickened her as much as Ron. Didn't they care? Their best friend had just died. He should be sitting with them at the feast.

"Hey, Hermione, pass a roll, will you?" Ron said between mouthfuls. At least the boy had enough manners to not talk with food in his mouth. That was marginally better than he had once been. Still, she could not help but feel revolted.

Grudgingly, she passed him a roll.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a flicker of actual concern showing briefly in his boyish features.

Hermione felt a bit of small hope at Ron's open concern. Quickly, she responded, not wanting the moment of selflessness to pass. "It's Harry. He should be here with us, but he's not. Things are getting worse. All I can think about is him," she said rapidly, forcing all the words out."

Ron nodded and smiled sadly, and effort diminished by the flakes of food covering him but tender nonetheless. "I know what you mean. He was my best mate." Then his eyes flashed and the sympathy drained away. He shrugged. "We got to move on though. Look at Ginny," he said, pointing a finger at his sister cuddling with Dean. "She's trying to move on. Maybe you and I could get together later and, um, work out some issues." He waggled his eyebrows in a way that left Hermione gaping.

Hermione had never been that into boys. She liked them and all – definitely preferred boys over girls – but the whole insensitive jerk thing kind of threw her off from really taking them serious. One day, she hoped, she would find someone who made her feel a little less like a piece of meat and more like a valued partner. Of course, the only boys she knew were teenagers, and they all were interested in only one thing. Unfortunately, over the past two years, she had filled out considerably and in all the right ways. Most guys her age and even the ones older had noticed. The only she hadn't caught leering at her was Harry. For the briefest of moments the previous year, she had considered maybe becoming more with Harry. Him dying kind of put a damper on that planned, and it seemed as if fate wanted to steer her in the direction of Ron Weasley, a direction he mostly definitely did not want to go.

Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think that's a good idea, Ron," she said, trying to sound as pleasant and gentle as possible.

Ron's face reddened. "I guess I'm not good enough for you, huh?" he spat.

She shook her head, holding up her hands defensively. "No, it's just were both hurting and-"

"Just shut up, Hermione. I don't want to play second to Potter," he said bitterly. He turned back to his plate of food and attacked it with abandon.

Hermione stared at her friend, too shocked at his outburst to respond in kind. Ever since the Ministry, Ron had become more and more hostile. Every now and then, he would explode in strange outbursts of angry. To be honest, it scared her. She didn't want to think what it could mean for her friend, but the implications were there. Ron had been damaged at the Ministry.

She knew that the words he spoke were influences left over from the brains that he'd fallen into. They had done a lot to mess with his mental functions. On some level she understood that he could not control himself, but on other levels, more primal and basic levels, the words he spoke still hurt. Those words in particular stung. It wasn't her fault she felt the way she did.

_Control yourself,_ she thought to herself. She didn't want them to see her crying. Taking a calming breath and another sip of pumpkin juice, she stood and walked out of the Great Hall, excusing herself early to the dorms. If Professor McGonagall had a problem with it, she would explain the situation. The stern transfiguration professor had a soft spot concerning Harry. No doubt, the strict woman would understand why Hermione needed to leave.

Hermione had only just left the Great Hall when the doors to the entrance hall opened as if guided by an invisible hand. She saw the troll and froze, flashes of her experience with one her First Year funning through her mind. The troll did not seem to notice her, but the deatheaters who followed it did. She pulled out her wand and sent a curse flying, but the lead deatheater spun to the side instead of wasting a spell with a shield. Silently, he cast a spell. She could not move fast enough without tripping over the grand staircase she had started up, and she faltered in trying to cast the shield spell. The disarming spell caught her full on in the chest, throwing her backwards onto the staircase and sending her wand flying into the awaiting hand of the deatheater who had cast the spell.

His laugh filled the corridor even as his comrades passed behind him and began their assault on the Great Hall. She recognized the laugh immediately. It's low, throaty vibration made her tremble.

"How appropriate it is that you should be the first one I encounter, Miss Granger," came the silky voice of Lucius Malfoy from behind the white skull mask. "I think I shall have a bit of fun with you, mudblood."

Hermione whimpered at the implication of his words. Meanwhile, drove after drove of deatheaters poured into the great hall. She tried to back away, to creep up the staircase, but her robes were too long and she caught herself tripping over the bottom of them.

The shattering of spellwork echoed as the professors and students attempted to fight back. Spell light glowed from the Great Hall. People screamed, both deatheaters and defenders. Lucius paid it all no mind. He stretched out his wand and flicked it at her. A full-body bind sped out of the end and swam over her, locking her arms to her side and rendering her motionless.

He laughed again. "A fitting position for Potter's whore," he said. Then his eyes widened, filling with a look Hermione didn't know, a look of wanton desire, of depravity. His lips curled into a sinister smile, and he waved his wand again.

Light flashed and a cutting curse hit the front of her robes, tearing through them and the skirt and blouse beneath them. Lucius flicked the wand and the clothing peeled apart, revealing the small blue thong and lacy bra beneath them. Even the body bind could not keep Hermione from shuddering as his eyes traveled her body.

The deatheater reached down with his wand and traced the tip from her chin, down the front of her body, and to the groove between her legs. He dipped it between her thighs, pushing the fabric gently against her sex as he did so. "Hmm," he half-whispered, half-moaned. "This will be pleasant."

But he didn't have the chance to further his desires. An unseen blast caught the deatheater in the side. Malfoy soared through the air and over the railing of the staircase. He sprawled across the marble floor, out of Hermione's sight.

Two of the deatheaters outside of the Great Hall saw their leader so easily thrown about and brandished their wands. Before they could fire off a spell, a dark figure dressed in all black appeared out of nowhere. A _snap-hiss_ filled the air, and a green light a little over a meter long erupted from a silver cylinder the figure held in his hand. The figure twisted the light and the men cried out as their wands and the hands that held them fell to the ground. A half-second later and their cries were silenced.

By this time, Malfoy was on his feet again. Hermione, still bound, watched helplessly as he sent a curse flying at her mysterious protector's back. She tried to cry out and warn him, but the body bind had not faded in intensity and held strong. The figure leapt in the air, launching himself and impossible six meter at least, and curled his body into a backwards somersault. He missed the spell by a long shot and land behind Malfoy. He twisted the light again and Mafloy's head rolled from his shoulder, eyes still staring at where the figure had been.

As Malfoy died the spell broke. She pushed herself to her feet and wrapped the torn robes around her exposed frame. The mysterious figured turned his head towards her. The power radiating off of him was stifling, so strong, it made her take a step back. It wasn't magic, at least not any kind she had seen on a wizard before, but it swam around him nonetheless, almost tangible in its strength. He raised a hand and held it out to her.

"Come on, Hermione," he said.

The voice was deep, deeper and fuller than she remembered, but it traveled beyond her ears, to the recesses of her mind where such things exist and are stored for recalling. She knew, then, without a doubt, who he was, and it almost made her fall.

"Harry," she whispered.

**A/N: Thoughts? If you like it, please tell me. I don't want to start this without people being interested. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling and George Lucas own it all.**

**A/N: A Harry Potter/Star Wars crossover I came up with on a whim. Thank you for the support. I am pleased by all the comments that were left. I hope that I have replied to most of you. I try to do so when I have the time. Please review this chapter. It is not hard to do. A simple yes or no will do. Trust me, it motivates me to write faster to know that people are interested.**

**A Song for the Lost**

**Chapter Two**

The Republic Dreadnaught _Axis_ orbited Earth at approximately 36,000 km. At 6,000 meters long with a shiny, metallic hull and brightly flaring thrusters, dreadnaught should have been easily visible from Earth's surface. At that moment, however, not even the most advanced earth satellite could detect _Axis._

The technology to make such a feat possible was not well known, at least not on the scale required by a ship the size of _Axis. _Cloaking technology required exact calculations and a lot of focused power. Power wasn't the problem. _Axis_ could feed off surrounding stars thanks to solar energizers built into its hull. Add in the fusion converters and the cooling stabilizers, the dreadnaught was essentially a self-sustaining, fully armed battle ship capable of rendering a planet lifeless in a matter of a few days. The problem with cloaking came from the calculations. Small ships could easily be cloaked. A starfighter did not have much mass, relatively speaking; therefore, the calculations did not have to take into account a large surface. Mathematically speaking, the technology to successfully cloak a ship the size of _Axis_ did not exist.

Fortunately, Republic Central Command did not agree with things like "impossible" and "should not exist." Thanks to advancements in stygium crystal focusing made by Republic scientist and kept virtually secret, _Axis _had been built as the first of its kind.

For all intents and purposes, the Republic had no vessel name _Axis._

If _Axis_ did not exist, then that meant that Admiral Eton Ken did not exist, at least not on any active duty rosters. According to the Republic Intelligence Database, Eton Ken died ten years before _Axis _was complete.

Not true.

The real Eton Ken stood on the bridge of _Axis_ staring out the massive viewport that topped the bridge. The green and blue planet beneath him stood out like a gem in the blackness of space. He hardly noticed the stars. Those he had seen thousands of times before, but the beauty of the planet before him almost brought tears to his eyes. It was one of the few things that could.

Life. The planet represented life unsoiled by the pains of galactic war and the movement of modernization. It represented purity. A thing Ken barely understood.

Axis had been out of known space for weeks when they discovered the planet. The two Jedi on board _Axis_ claimed they could sense it, a miracle in itself seeing as how none of _Axis's_ advanced long-range sensors had pinpointed any sort of life-sustaining planet in the region or any of the surrounding regions. Tired of the desolate emptiness offered by wild space and in desperate need to find a location that could be fortified, Ken readily agreed to investigate the Jedi's hunches.

His faith was greatly rewarded. After a lifetime of seeing planets torn by war and suffocated by the life forms that called them home, he had found a new planet, an uncivilized planet uncorrupted by the long, poisonous fingers of neither the Sith Empire nor the Republic. More than anything, he longed to leave the ship and make it his home, to finally escape the eternal civil war that never ended no matter which side held the advantage.

Eton Ken sighed as he looked out at the blue oceans and swirling clouds. He blinked away the longing. Admirals did not forsake their duty. A leader in the shadows, they had named him.

"Commander Regil, move to approach speed. Calculate a descent vector and commence landing at will."

The tall, female officer behind him snapped off orders to the bridge crew. Almost instantly, he felt the lurch in the ship's control as their velocity changed. Ken turned to the junior officer. Her blue eyes lit up as he looked at her, but it had nothing to do with attraction or affection. It was the excitement. Regil loved serving in the Republic navy. She was military through and through. As always, her black uniform, an exact mirror of his save for the rank insignia she wore, was pressed and creased to perfection. Like every other officer onboard, the blonde female was thought to be dead by all but a few strategically placed individuals.

" Keep shields and cloaking up until we land and isolation is verified," he told her. "The Jedi will give confirmation."

She snapped to attention, saluted, and said, "Aye, sir," in the sharp, brisk tone most trained officers used. He returned the salute and started from the bridge.

Ken managed to make it halfway across the deck before the bulkhead exiting the bridge opened and a tall, brunette woman in tight grey robes entered. His shoulders tensed and his head started to pulse the second he saw the frown marring her smooth, angular face. There was no mirth in the grey-clad woman's green eyes. Her whole body looked stiff. Her hand, in particular, seemed anxious. She flexed her fingers, running them along the shaft of the metallic cylinder object that hung from her waist.

The Jedi's _lightsaber._

"Good evening, Master Jedi. I was just explaining to Commander Regil that we will beginning our descent as soon as your padawan has secured us a landing site," he said in way of debriefing. His voice strained to keep in its apprehension. The female Jedi's appearance rarely eased him despite her stunning beauty.

The look the Jedi gave him could have frozen any sun. "My padawan has run into complications, Admiral. I need a shuttle in order to join him on the surface."

Ken frowned. "He ensured us that the planet would be safe and unaware of our presence, Master Katur." He hated problems. The military thrived on preciseness and order. While capable of changing to match whatever might come, no unit would be as effective as under ideal circumstances. Working with Jedi had a way of always attracting problems.

She bowed slightly, spreading her hands. "There were unforeseen circumstances that should have not have existed. My padawan and your soldiers have addressed them, but I need to join him in order to finish the arrangements that will allow your landing," the Jedi responded. Then, her eyes grew distant as if she were staring at some far off point behind Ken. In a dreamy voice she added, "There are strange mummers here. The Force is twisted, agonized. I must discover the meaning."

The admiral raised an eyebrow. "Mummers? Our landing is delayed because you hear mummers? Tell them to shut up so I can land," he snapped, his voice a bit sharper than intended. The lack of sleep was getting to him, and the Jedi's insistence in delaying because of a feeling more than tested his thin patience.

The Jedi's eyes narrowed. "You would do well to remember the power of the Force, Admiral. We cannot predict how it will speak, only listen when it does."

Ken shook his head in frustration but turned to Commander Regil despite his sudden desire to spit profanity at the Jedi Master. "Commander, prepare a landing cruiser for Master Katur. Resume orbiting speed."

"Yes, sir."

He turned back to the Jedi and raised a finger. "Find me a landing spot, Master Katur."

If the Jedi Master was offended by his tone and gestures, she did not showed it. She merely bowed again and made to exit the bridge. At the bulkhead, she paused and looked over her shoulder. In a low voce she said, "If you do not hear from me in 48 hours, it would be best if you left this system, Admiral."

He stared at the bulkhead as it closed behind her. Where else could they go?

* * *

Her hand closed around his, and when it did, she lost all the breath in her lungs. He was real. Harry Potter had returned. Suddenly, rational thoughts left her brain. All she could do was fall into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She didn't care about anything else. The deatheaters, the students, the professors, Ron, her ripped robes. None of it mattered. All that mattered was Harry.

Desperation, desire, and deep need in the pit of her stomach lunged outward. Her robe slipped, opening for him. Her lips searched hungrily for his. A moan of pleasure and disbelief escaped her lips as he wrapped his arms around her. Their lips met and…

He responded. His lips opened to hers. They folded against hers, savoring the touch, the sensation, the ecstasy. Their tongues met. His hands slipped inside her open robe, arms encircling her waist, fingers gripping her skin. A moan escaped her.

She pressed her body against his, not caring about the sounds of fighting coming from the Great Hall. None of it mattered. All that mattered was feeling him against her. She needed him to satisfy her. Only he could. Only Harry. Daring to push him further, she took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts and…

Nothing.

Hermione pulled back, her brain working again. Harry's lips had grown still, completely unresponsive to hers. He pulled his hands away and settled them on her waist, his fingers over the thin strips of fabric that held up her thong. As she looked up at him, he smiled, but it was just that, a smile. Hurt filled her face. Tears threatened to pour from her eyes. She knew she wasn't very attractive, but this was Harry; how could he spurn her like that? She was throwing herself at him, and he didn't want her.

The shock disappeared, and the reality of Lucius's attack hit her. The pain and fear she had refused to acknowledge broke through the dam of denial like a tidal wave.

Harry's arms left her waist. He grabbed her by the shoulder and lowered his gaze to meet hers. _No, don't look at me this way, _she thought. She didn't want him to see her being so stupid. She didn't want him to see the shame. His rejection was bad enough. She wasn't good enough. Just a mudblood. Just a whore.

"Stop," he said, but it was more than words. His words rang. They chimed in her head, racing through her mind to the logical center, the center she always depended on. There, in that deep recess, his voice said again, "Stop."

Hermione blinked and looked up.

"There's an attack. I have to go. I will come back," he told her. He was smiling the whole time, a dazzling smile brighter than she remembered him having. That's when she realized he wasn't wearing glasses anymore. In fact, a lot had changed. He was taller, more muscular. His eyes blazed, not just stared. They held fire and passion. His hair wasn't as unruly as it normally was. It laid flat in a way that his hair had simply refused to do before. He was older, she realized. He looked at least five years older, at least twenty. The only thing that hadn't changed was the scar. It still stood out on his forehead just as prominent as it always had.

Then, just as soon as he had come, he left, spinning away and charging towards the Great Hall. She heard him shout something into a bracelet at his wrist. Five seconds later, twelve men in grey armor stormed into the Entrance Hall with things that looked like bulky rifles. Black visors hid their faces, but she knew instantly that they weren't wizards.

_Muggles._

Hermione shook her head, grabbed her wand, and cast a quick Repair Charm. The robes and clothing beneath mended, once again covering her. She was Hermione Granger. She did not let her friends fight alone, especially friends like Harry Potter. She wasn't going to lose him again. Her grip tightened on her wand and she ran after the Boy-Who-lived.

* * *

Dumbledore was old, older than most. He had seen many things and forgotten most of them. This day, this night, he would never forget so long as he lived. That is assuming he survived it.

Trolls, deatheaters, even acromantulas stormed the Great Hall. Students immediately panicked. That made matters worse. The professors and older students were not able to fire curses off immediately for fear they might hit the younger students. The deatheaters had no such fear. All they had to worry about was avoiding the trolls and giant spiders.

Despite the hazy feeling from the alcohol, Dumbledore was able to get around the Head Table and through the rampaging students quickly enough. By the time he did, some of the older students had started to fire curses back at the deatheaters. Already, bodies littered the floor. Most were students.

His world spun. How had this happened? The wards should have notified him earlier. He should have been able to feel them failing. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was tied directly to them. They signaled to him about everything, even when a student had lost points. Collapsing wards should have been more significant than a student losing house points.

_No._ He shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to go down that road. That path had plagued him more than once since Harry died. He couldn't do it again, not now. He had to fight.

Spells blazed around him, but when Albus Dumbledore raised his wand, the magical world took notice. His first spell channeled more power than any deatheater in the room, perhaps more than the top five combined. It raced in a dark crimson arc towards the first troll. The burst of magic tore through the thick flesh of the twelve-foot beast, ripping away skin and bone to explode from the other side in a shower of blood and brain matter. The spell did not stop there. It was too powerful. It kept going, lashing out at the group of deatheaters behind the troll, taking two of them with it as it faded into nothingness.

The display of power was enough to give the deatheaters pause. They stopped, but only long enough for the trolls to focus the target of their anger on Dumbledore. Four giant mountain trolls charged him at once.

He might be good, but at times, even he had to nod to sheer force. He did so, spinning around and vanishing in a blink. The wards guarding Hogwarts had collapsed, including the wards that prevented apparition. He reappeared far from the trolls, on top of the Slytherin tables. The large beasts, stupider than they were strong, did not stop their charge and collided. The resulting fight left them beating each other and hindering the deatheaters as students fled. Dumbledore waved his wand, lifting several unconscious – hopefully only unconscious – students from the ground and gently banished them towards a defensive ring some of the professors had managed to set up.

Dumbledore spun, disappearing and reappearing again several meters away from the trolls. His wand twirled and an explosion of magic sent a wave at the deatheaters who had managed to escape being cannon fodder from the troll fight. Six deatheaters were thrown into the air and into the tangle of trolls. Their deaths followed quickly.

He was powerful. Powerful and wise. However, even power and wisdom such as his had its limits. As much as he might have wanted to be, Dumbledore was not omniscient. He did not hear or see the pale wizard appear behind him. As concentrated he was on defending his students, the great Albus Dumbledore did not sense the Dark Lord's spell until it wrapped around him, binding him with dark energy and bringing him to his knees. He watched helplessly as the Elder Wand rolled from his hand and sharp pain sheered through every muscle in his body.

Voldemort waved his wand and the trolls stopped struggling. Dumbledore felt himself being turned towards the doors. Voldemort moved into his path. The fighting stopped, the professors and students too terrified at seeing their leader so easily brought down, the deatheaters in awe of their master.

Voldemort walked over to where the Elder Wand lay and lifted it from the floor. He twirled it in his fingers, inspecting the ancient wood with calculating red eyes. His snake-like features glowed with excitement. His thin mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile.

"Impressive, Dumbledore. How have you hid this from me for so long?" He pocketed his own wand and took the Elder Wand in his wand hand, bringing the ancient focus to bear on the Headmaster. "I should have known it was you who had it, old man. Who else could have possibly possessed such an object as this but you? It explains so much. Finally, I am able to understand how you could defeat me so easily."

Despite the pain and bindings, Dumbledore managed to treat Voldemort with a look of pity. "You don't understand, Tom. You still don't, no matter how much you claim to the contrary. The wand you hold is only a channel. It cannot give you true power. That comes from a different source all together."

Voldemort's face twisted in rage. "Don't tell me of sources and power! I am Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard to ever live! Heir to Salazar Slytherin! How can you, old fool, tell me of such things when I embody them?!" His lips began to form the words that would end the Headmaster's life, and time slowed down.

Suddenly, Dumbledore saw it all, flashes of memories in front of his eyes, past mistakes and glories running across his vision all at once. He saw them and trembled, terrified and at peace, sad and happy. He saw the contradiction that had been his life, the fall of Harry Potter, and most importantly, the fleeting power that gave him life, magic stronger than he could ever master. In it, he reveled and exhaled, thinking to breathe his last.

The Killing Curse never came.

A _snap-hiss_ interrupted the Dark Lord's tirade and the bindings on Dumbledore faded. His vision cleared, and he saw a black figure cut through several deatheaters at once. Bursts of light, not magical spells but controlled bolts of energy, came from the behind the figure and struck down the deatheaters the black figure did not hit. The trolls roared, Voldemort's binding having faded from them as well.

Dumbledore did not question the help of the mysterious figure. He reached out with his hand, pulled every bit of will he could into a field of wandless magic, and ripped the Elder Wand from Voldemort's grasp. The shock of deatheaters dying distracted the Dark Lord long enough that he did not sense the approaching spell until too late. Before Voldemort realized it, Dumbledore was firing curses.

Heedless of his own safety, Dumbledore threw everything he could at the unarmed Dark Lord. Voldemort staggered under the barrage and tried to pull his other wand, but he stumbled, his body flailing. A look of terror flashed on his face as the inferno that was Albus Dumbledore stepped toward him. In a twist and a pop, Voldemort was gone.

The Headmaster turned his attention back to the trolls, but as he did, he saw the last one fall and join the corpses of its cousins on the stone floor. The corpses formed a circle around the black figure, a figure that shown with power and radiated energy.

Only the acromantula still stood. Everything else that had challenged the fury of the Hogwarts defenders lay on the floor either dead or dying. Only a few still had all their limbs attached. The giant spiders were not dangerous just because they were carnivorous. They were dangerous because they were as intelligent as humans. They, unlike most predators, had the ability to think beyond instinct.

The black figure did not wait for them to attack. He leapt in the air, somersaulting to impossible heights that carried him over the spiders and placed him between the beasts and the circle of professors and older students that protected the younger students. At the same time, the armored men behind him unleashed a wave of deadly bolts from weapons they held pressed against their shoulders. The bolts did not stray. Each hit the intended target. In a matter of seconds, the smell of burned carcass filled the Great Hall. The black figure stood sentry, daring anything that still lived to try and break him.

Dumbledore took a step forward, raised his wand in case of danger, and found that he no longer held it.

The Boy-Who-Lived looked up from the carnage he had created, his eyes dark and frightening, a green lightning sword in one hand and the Elder Wand in the open palm of his other. He did not smile. He did not frown. He did not show emotion.

In a voice as cold as the iciest blizzard but hot like the most fiery volcano, he spoke one word… a name. With it came threat and promise, every letter soaked in rage.

"Dumbledore."

* * *

His hand tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber, but he lowered it to his side, pointing the ancient weapon at a 135 degrees angle. He closed himself off to the emotions that danced through the room. His eyes squeezed half-shut. The air hummed. He knew the sound. The hum of war, of death, of control… his lightsaber.

"_There is no emotion, there is peace."_

Dumbledore. How did he know that name? He stared at the man who looked so familiar and brought up so much anger. He stared at the crooked nose wizard, an old man. He stared and remembered the first line of the Jedi Code. Peace.

"_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."_

He did not know them. Any of them. But the girl in the hallway knew him. And he had given her a name too hadn't he? Only, her name did not come with anger. With her, he felt desire, longing, need. He felt…

"_There is no passion, there is serenity."_

No. Jedi did not feel that. Jedi existed outside of that. They did not succumb to the instinctual drives that governed the lives of other beings. Serenity. Only serenity.

"_There is no chaos, there is harmony."_

The room began to calm. The death around him did not contradict his beliefs. The death was necessary. It facilitated life. Had he not acted, more would have died. Death meant nothing to a Jedi. Only harmony. Death did not exist.

"_There is no death, there is the Force."_

He deactivated the lightsaber. The Force swirled around him. He allowed his senses to ride it, to take in his surroundings. These were students, students and teachers. The masked humans and their pets had attacked a school. He stood in a school.

For a moment, the taint of the dark side rose up, and he reached to grasp it. Nausea rolled up from his stomach, but the power of the dark side could cure that. He could wipe away all pain.

No.

Harry fought the anger back. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt lest he use it without thinking and make matters worse. The soldiers behind him relaxed. He felt the tension leave their shoulders. Still, they did not lower their guns.

He looked at the man he had called Dumbledore. The man he knew to be Dumbledore. Again, the rage he associated with the man came, but it would not master him. He was Jedi. Serenity.

"I know you," he said simply, not sure of what else to add.

The old man nodded once. The shock that marked his features changed to relief, then to pleasure. "Yes," he said, his voice sounding old and feeble despite the powerful image he portrayed in the force. "I daresay that you know me better than most of my students have ever known me."

"Your name is Dumbledore." Harry said.

The man nodded. "And yours is Harry Potter."

Harry shook his head. He had a mission to complete. This man knew him, knew his past. Finally, pieces of his puzzling life began to fall into place. So many questions filled his head, but they all had to wait. The Axis orbited the planet waiting on him to signal the all-clear.

"I am Harry Potter of the Jedi Order. My men and I observed these subjects attacking and we rendered our aid. As an ambassador for the Galactic Republic, I request audience with your leader."

Dumbledore looked taken aback. Clearly he had not expected a military answer from Harry. The old man nodded and beckoned towards a stern-face woman. The woman approached at once but never took her eyes off Harry.

"Professor McGonagall, escort the students back tot heir dormitories. As soon as the Ministry arrives, explain to them that I am seeing to the security of the castle and will meet with them as soon as possible. I will return to you as soon as can." He gave her a sharp look and raised a finger. "Ensure that the investigators speak to no one but a professor until I clear it."

The woman gave a quick nod, turned, and went about her business.

"Now, Mr. Potter. If you and your men will follow me to my office, I am sure we can get everything cleared up very quickly."

He nodded. Without being ordered to, the soldiers formed a defensive formation around Harry, blocking the old man from having direct access to him. Under any other circumstances, Harry might have smiled. For some reason, he didn't want to show even the slight bit of pleasantness towards Dumbledore. He opened himself to the Force and allowed it to calm his thoughts.

Held deep within the embrace of the Living Force, Harry followed Dumbledore, his fingers stroking the lightsaber at his waist.

* * *

In shadows they waited.

The dark gave them power, gave them refuge, gave them home.

Through anger they were made; by rage they existed.

As one they opened their eyes. Each mind felt the same thing. They recognized each other without trying. They knew their creator, and they knew one another. From the same spirit, their image became life. And they knew…

_Jedi._

Jedi had returned to Earth. As one, they embraced the force.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. PLEASE REVIEW! The reviews encourage me to write more because they let me know people are reading. It's not hard to write a yes or no. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling and George Lucas own it all.**

**A/N: A Harry Potter/Star Wars crossover I came up with on a whim. Technically, this is a repost. **

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! I appreciate you reading. This chapter deals with a lot of hard issues that I chose to use for my characters. It gives a small bit of back-story. Don't worry, more is coming later. Let me know if you are reading and if I should continue. Also, feel free to ask if you need me to clarify something from the Star Wars Universe you might find confusing.**

**A Song for the Lost**

**Chapter Three**

Dumbledore stared across his desk at the young wizard awaiting his judgment. At least, that's how he perceived it. He did not see the powerful Jedi Padawan that looked old enough to have left his teens long ago. He did not see the fierce warrior that had such a commanding presence that soldiers followed him without pause or question. He just saw Harry. Harry Potter.

The Boy-who-lived.

"May I offer you a bit of tea, Mr. Potter? Perhaps a lemon drop?" Dumbledore's eyes sparkled innocently.

"No," Harry told him, his voice flat. "It is best that we move forward without delay. My master will be here soon, and I would like to have most of the negotiations done by that point."

Master? Could it be that the boy had aligned himself with another Dark Lord? Was that why muggles with peculiar guns escorted him?

Dumbledore did not let the concern show on his face. He kept the grandfatherly smile and leaned forward on his elbows. "Yes, of course, but I'm afraid you will have to be more specific as to what kind of negotiations."

Harry stood, pulled a document from somewhere under the cloak he wore, and placed it on Dumbledore's desk. He cleared his throat. "Under the authority of Admiral Eton Ken, the Galactic Republic Navy formally requests permission to land the dreadnaught _Axis _on grounds nearby this location. You will be compensated for the time we spend inside your jurisdiction and will not be asked to spend any resources for our care. Our ship is self-sustaining, and we are more than capable of protecting ourselves. Are these terms agreeable?"

Dumbledore picked up the document. "Ship?" he asked, eyeing the paper work. "Will the lake be enough to accommodate you?"

Harry shook his head. "The _Axis_ is not capable of travel by water. It is unable to sustain buoyancy. We will need a parcel of land approximately seven kilometers."

"So you have a 'ship' that is incapable of floating that requires seven kilometers of land to dock?" Dumbledore laid down the document and leaned back in his chair. "Harry, my boy, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Harry flinched at that. Strange. Dumbledore had not expected to unhinge the boy so easily. Still, it served his purpose. If he could unhinge the young wizard, he might catch him off guard and pull out some of the answers he desired.

"Harry," he pressed, "where have you been? Where did the Veil send you? You should be dead."

* * *

_Serenity. _Harry allowed to Force to sweep over him once again. Its cool touch and comforting presence fortified him against the unnerving effect Dumbledore seemed to have. Why was he having so much trouble controlling himself around the man?

Dumbledore acted as though he knew Harry very well, and as much as Harry wanted to deny the possibility, something tugged at his senses that told him otherwise. But how? If only he could remember.

For the past ten years, Harry had been in training to become a Jedi Knight, a defender of peace and justice in the galaxy. His life before the Jedi was a mystery to everyone, including him. Jedi Healers tried to help him, but even the best mind disciplines could not find an answer. So for ten years he had lived his life in service to the galaxy, a servant devoid of a past.

Now he was on a planet called Earth. According to the required bio-scans he underwent in the med-bay upon beginning orbit of the planet, traces of many of the elements found on Earth were found in Harry. The doctors had even gone as far as to say that it was possible Harry came from Earth.

Of course, he couldn't argue otherwise. As far as Harry knew, he could have been from Earth. Then again, he could just as easily be the son of a merchant family from Nar Shaddaa.

Ten years. He had spent ten long, grueling years to create his new life. Why did the old one have to come back now, and why did the idea of it fill him with so much trepidation? Shouldn't he be happy to find his birth planet, to find people who knew him?

_Where have you been? Where did the Veil send you? You should be dead._

Should be dead…

"Did you try to kill me?" Harry asked abruptly, the thought suddenly coming to his mind. Somehow, he knew that someone had, in fact, tried to kill him. More than once even. Sure, as a Jedi, he had faced people wanting to kill him before, but this was different. People trying to kill him because he was Jedi was an occupational hazard. His instincts told him that whoever had tried to kill him in his childhood had more personal reasons. Could it have been Dumbledore?

The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why would I try to kill you? I've been trying to save you."

Dark, shadowy images filled his head. A door slamming closed, a child weeping and scraping at the door, the feeling of unsatisfied hunger, spiders, blood from open wounds rendered by a leather belt, a raw throat, choking and gagging. Harry closed his eyes and tried to push the images away. They didn't stop. He started to breathe hard. He shut his eyes tight. A large man with very little neck. A purple face. A bulldog. A laughing woman. The face of an old man with a long silver beard and long silver hair looking down at him through half-moon spectacles before walking away and leaving him to stare into the night. A screaming woman.

A screaming woman.

A screaming woman.

A flash of green.

Dead. His mother…

Dead.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Harry leapt up from the chair, his lightsaber already in hand. The green blade sprang to life. He fell back into form and readied the Force to be unleashed.

Dumbledore stood by the chair Harry had been in. He looked sad and tired. His shoulders were slightly hunched as if he carried some great burden.

"My dear boy," he whispered. "I only meant to comfort you."

Harry snarled. Rage filled him. The Dark Side of the Force burned inside him. It bubbled beneath the surface of his control, begging to be channeled, to be used. "You left me there. With them. You let them hurt me." Harry's green eyes glowed. The Headmaster took a step back. "You knew he was coming after me, didn't you? You knew who the secret keeper was. You killed her."

All the memories, all the regret, all the pain rushed back to him at once. All of it buried beneath ten years of Jedi training.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry. I knew too late. There was nothing I could do to save her. My boy, I-"

"You will not call me that, Albus Dumbledore!" Harry screamed.

The control broke. The Dark Side flooded Harry; he raised his left hand. Arcs of blue and white lightning flooded the room, climbing over Dumbledore. The old man fell to his knees, not able to stand as the powerful Dark Side energy weaved its way through his aged body and sent him into a convulsive fit. Harry did not stop. He forced the hot streaks into his former Headmaster until he could smell burning flesh. Anger blinded him to anything else. He didn't care. All that mattered was vengeance.

"Harry, please!" Dumbledore begged.

Harry ignored him.

Something pounded on the other side of the office door. Not a knock. Someone trying to break through. Again, Harry didn't care.

_Kill him… _The voice spoke so clearly that Harry might have wondered whom else was in the room with them had he not been so distracted. But he didn't care. The voice just drove the rage, feeding his anger, his power. The dark taint began to taste sweet. The feeling of such energy running through him made him laugh. It came out as a high cackle, a mad cackle. Within his anger he could do anything. No rule mattered. Nothing stood in his way. No master. No Jedi Council. No barriers. Harry Potter could rule the galaxy under an iron fist of control and order. He could save the Republic from itself!

Another bang on the door.

He did not hear it.

Only a slight prickle in the force warned him before it happened. It wasn't enough. The cackling Jedi was too far gone. He didn't notice the door buckle, splinter, then shatter.

* * *

Jedi Master Amir Katur felt the Dark Side boiling. She knew it came from somewhere in the castle. The building teemed with the Force, a strange mixture of both light and dark; though, neither seemed to interfere with the other. She had never seen anything like it before.

But what she felt as the two soldiers escorted her to her padawan wasn't the same thing. It felt familiar. She knew that kind of power intimately, because it echoed the mark shared by every Sith she'd ever faced. Rage. Hate. Jealousy. Passion. And it blazed as bright as a star to her senses. Such a flood of power could destroy any life, maybe even the life of the one using it.

Suddenly, being escorted to Harry didn't matter anymore. She had to find this Dark Side user before it was too late. He or she could leave a hole in the Force that a planet like this might never recover from. She had heard of such things happening before, of a strange, twisted planet called Korriban. The graveyard of the Sith.

She broke away from the guards and ran down the corridor. Suits of armor snapped to attention as she passed. Staircases moved and changed. Doors popped out of nowhere. Normally, this would not have been so disturbing, but no mechanism caused this to happen. In fact, unless she was much mistaken, she hadn't seen a single bit of machinery advanced enough to even conduct electricity sense entering the castle. All she felt was the Force. But that wasn't possible either, was it? The Force didn't just manifest itself in order to move around a staircase for no purpose other than just to move it. The Force simply did not work that way. It was a cycle, a connected power that moved from one being to the next, binding all people as one, no matter their species or race. The Force existed as the common thread for all life.

Inside the castle, it went beyond that. The Force manifested as life itself. It took on a sentience she had never experienced. Purity. That word described it best. If she didn't know better, she could have hypothesized that Earth served as the source of the Force, as if the well of all existence somehow could be tied to this single planet.

Katur shook her head. No. She couldn't think of that right now. She had to find where so much dark energy was coming from. Forcing the thoughts away, she opened herself to the Living Force and let it guide her. Suddenly, each step came from instinct. Consciously, she was not aware of the path she took, but the Force guided her, almost taking over her body and making the steps for her. She ran, bolstered to speeds that other humans were incapable of. Where staircases moved out of her path, she leapt, somersaulting over twenty meter gaps and landing with perfect grace on the other side, never missing a beat.

Finally, she came close to the epicenter of the dark energy. She needed to be one floor above. She saw a staircase behind a gargoyle statue. The stone sculpture blocked her path. On either side of it, two soldiers waited, both dressed in the armor of Republic Commandos. They snapped to attention.

"What is going on? Where is Padawan Potter?" she asked, fearing the answer. If the soldiers were here, that meant Harry was too. And if Harry had felt the same dark energy as she felt – and she was sure he had – he would have confronted it just like she was rushing to do.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. "Major Liggins took two men. They are trying to get into the office now. Padawan Potter is inside. We heard screams and laughing."

"The gargoyle?" she asked, nodding at the statue

The soldier turned his head to the stonework and muttered, "Pepperiment Dandies."

The gargoyle looked up, turned from side to side, and leaped out of the way. Katur didn't wait for an explanation. She ran up the staircase.

As the soldier had said, Major Liggins and two more soldiers were there. All three were armored and held assault rifles, which they were currently using as battering rams against a heavy wooden door. Someone screamed on the other side.

"Harry, please!"

The Jedi Master's stomach rose into her throat. There were only two people on the other side of that door, and she could feel the Force being channeled by only one.

Harry.

"Stand aside," Katur said.

The soldiers seemed more than willing to do just that. Most people preferred to allow another Jedi handle Jedi business, a large reason why the Jedi Civil War had drawn on as long as it did. People did not get involved unless they had to. By then, it was usually too late.

Katur pulled at the Force and allowed it to flow through her. She threw a hand out. No bright light flashed. No big bang sounded. The Light Side needed no fanfare. The power flew through her and smashed into the door. It buckled, splintered, then shattered.

She wasted no time. Before she even made it to the room's threshold, she had her lightsaber in hand. The Dark Side of the Force flooded from the room like a river bursting forth from a dam, but she did not relent. Like a lighthouse in the darkness, her presence shined through the murk. She swam through the darkness, concentrated her mind on the source of the energy, and shoved.

Abruptly, the commotion stopped. Katur dropped to the ground and rolled through the empty doorframe, narrowly missing a heavy lamp flying at her head. Smoke filled the room. A fire had somehow started. She could feel both presences. One, the strong and vibrant presence of her padawan. The other, a dying, drained presence she did not know. She came up in a crouch, lightsaber ignited. She brought the purple blade of her weapon up, parrying a sudden strike from a familiar green blade.

The strike from her padawan shook her. The fury behind his blow augmented his strength, jarring her concentration. He followed with a quick swipe to her midsection. She somersaulted backwards.

Katur wanted explanations. She wanted to know what could make the man she had known and trained for ten years act this way. What could bring the stalwart defender of the light she loved as a brother to succumb to the temptation of the Dark Side of the Force?

"Harry, its me! Stop this!" she cried.

The smoke parted. Her padawan stepped through the opening. His black clothes were scorched. His left hand hung limply at his side. It was completely black. Charred skin hung loosely from it. In his right, he held his lightsaber to his side. His chin was lowered, his jaw hard and set. His eyes burned a different color than the normal green. They burned red, a maddening red.

"You have no place here, Master Katur. You have no idea what this man did to me! How he made me suffer!" he yelled, pointing his lightsaber off to the side where the smoke still hung thick. Even as he spoke, though, it thinned.

Katur gasped. An old man lay huddled against the wall, curled into a fetal position. His skin hung from him, melted as if by sudden heat. She could see bits of bone and torn muscle. He had no eyelids. His eyes were bloodshot, unseeing. Then she understood. There was no fire. The smoke was from something deadlier. Force lightning, a favored weapon of the Sith. A weapon wielded by her apprentice.

Harry had fallen to the Dark Side.

"They tortured me!" Harry screamed. "They beat me day and night! They did not feed me. I relieved myself in an old bean can they let me out to dump once a day! When I was old enough, they had me do their laundry, the cooking, the gardening, everything! Still, I did not eat! Still, they beat me!" His voice hit her with every word, every syllable leaking with contempt and hatred. "Then one night, Uncle Vernon wanted to really make a mark on me. He said I had had to be useful." Tears were streaming from his face. "He said I had to earn my keep."

Harry stopped. He dropped the lightsaber. It deactivated and clattered to the ground. The padawan sank to his knees in front of her. "I had to take him in my mouth. I had to suck his cock until he said I was good enough. I was only seven, but if I didn't do it right, he beat me and made me do it again and again."

Katur stood frozen. She wanted to say something, to do something, but she couldn't. The Force didn't guide her in this. She was torn between her disgust of what Harry had done and pity over the boy so injured in his past. There were no words that could ease that pain.

"He set me there!" Harry screamed. He cradled his forehead in his hands, tears and sobs coming all at once. "I didn't want to remember! I wanted to forget!"

Katur turned to the soldiers. She pointed at the dying man. "Bacta tank, now!"

They nodded and made their way across the room in a hurry, none looking at Harry.

The Jedi Master held out her free hand. Harry's lightsaber jumped into it. She secured it tightly on her belt so he couldn't pull it away. Taking a deep breath, she took a chance and did the same with her own. Cautiously, she stepped over to him and went down to her knees.

Harry collapsed into her arms, his tears and sobs increasing. Katur didn't hold back. She pulled him into a tight embrace and opened herself to the Force. Energy poured into her and him. A soft hum came from her throat. With a sigh, she sank them both deep into a healing trance, sending every bit of comfort and love she could muster into the broken mind of her padawan.

* * *

Luna looked up from the floor of the Astronomy Tower. She wore her robe once more. Something stirred in the castle. Anger.

She had always been able to feel emotions. It was part of the reason why she acted so differently from the other students. Emotions from every end of the spectrum constantly filled her everyday life, and very few of them belonged to her. Anyone would be a little looney if they had to deal with that all the time.

This was different, though. She knew this emotion. It went beyond the surface definition of anger. It delved into the psyche, scarring the person who possessed such a strong feeling. It represented loss, horrible and terrible loss. Loss of innocence, of self-worth, of being. Only acts of extreme and sudden violence could leave behind something so strong.

More than that, she knew who felt this way just like she knew anytime he suffered. She knew his signature, because she had put it there. She had already claimed him, named him, and nothing would take that away from her, not again. She stood up and made her way down from the tower and to the Headmaster's office. She didn't car that she only wore a robe and panties. She didn't care that her bare feet were cold against the stone steps. All she cared about was reaching the man she loved.

"I'm coming Harry."

* * *

Hermione felt… something.

Magic often felt that way to her. Words did not exist to describe the unique flows and currents that made up a spellweave. The premise of magic had once seemed so foreign, so illogical to her that it could not have existed. Until she actually arrived at Hogwarts, a part of her had believed it all just a dream or an elaborate prank played by one of the popular girls who used to bully her in primary school. Now, she saw it for what it was: a primordial representation of Creation. It began all life, and in the end, all life returned to it.

Magic rang in every corner of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry like a symphony of bells where each bell played a different tune, but somehow, each bell-ringer made the tune fit in with the tune played by the other until a perfect carillon formed. If lifted her spirits when she felt down. It made her smile when the world frowned.

Yet, now she heard a different bell, one she hadn't heard before. Its pitch rang deeper and louder than the other bells. No happiness came from it. Instead, she felt a longing sadness build inside her chest, a sadness she related to a boy.

Harry.

Hermione ran from the Great Hall without a second thought. They didn't need her. She had missed the battle thanks to Lucius Malfoy. After Harry saved her and went to the Great Hall, there was nothing left that needed doing. He fought off the intruders with the help of his muggle soldiers and Dumbledore. Even the Dark Lord himself had quelled before the might of the Boy-who-lived.

But now, Voldemort didn't threaten the school. Harry did. And beyond that, something threatened Harry.

She wasn't going to lose him again.

* * *

"Admiral, a shuttle from the surface is inbound."

Eton Ken turned to face the deck officer, a short, red haired officer that had only just left the phase in life when acne was the biggest worry. He still had the stubborn pimple or two to prove it.

"On whose authority, deck officer?" Ken asked.

The deck officer swallowed, shuffled his feet, and stammered out an inaudible reply.

Ken had to force himself not to roll his eyes. So many young officers were too easily intimidated for their own good. If he so much as frowned at one of them, they wet their pants. Of course, that's what Republic Central Command had given him for this mission. The young officers were the only once who didn't have families that would ask too many questions. "Speak up, man!"

The young officer's face went red in embarrassment. Speaking louder than necessary, he said, "Major Liggins, sir. They have a civilian for the bacta tanks." The officer swallowed again and tagged on to the end, "The Major requests a private word with you, sir."

He raised an eyebrow. Liggins never breached protocol. Two other people stood between him and Liggins in the chain of command. What could cause the career soldier to go over the heads of his commanding officers?

"Sir," the deck officer started, "he says to give you authorization code Delta-Seven-Tango-Nine. Priority One."

"Put him to a private channel and give me a headset," Ken ordered.

Delta-Seven-Tango-Nine was an old code from the height of the Jedi Civil War. Senior officials used the code to communicate with special operations commandos when a target with Force sensitivity presented itself. Usually, the code referred to rogue Jedi defecting to the Sith Armada. Priority numbers were given as references to the threat level presented by the targets. The highest threats were classified as Priority One.

Ken took a comlink offered by the deck officer and headed to his private quarters just off the bridge. Once inside, he interfaced with the communications array and deactivated the coding. The comlink dinged in response, and Major Liggins's muffled voice came through.

"Admiral, this is Major Liggins. Padawan Potter has turned rogue, possibly unstable. Requesting permission to terminate the threat."

**A/N: Should I continue? I don't want to write it if no one is reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: As many of you know, I started this fanfic because I enjoy SW/HP crossovers but cannot find many good ones. It is, at times, difficult to write an effective crossover, but I decided to take a shot at it. I have been overwhelmed by the positive feedback. Thank you so much for your support! Many of you are unfamiliar with the different aspects of the Star Wars Universe. If you have any questions, please ask them. I will glad answer. I respond to every review I get, even if it takes me a couple of days. Thanks again!**

**Special Note: Thank you to reader MCKISAB who pointed out that because of the size of the Republic Dreadnaught **_**Axis, **_**it would be almost impossible to land the ship because of gravity issues. Should anyone else see such errors, please point them out to be. Thanks MCKISAB!**

**A Song for the Lost**

**Chapter Four**

"My God," Ken said in a hushed voice. "How did he even survive to get here?"

Major John Liggins shook his head. He could not look away from the floating body of what had once been a human. Suspended in a tank of blue medicinal liquid called bacta and attached to several wires that kept him alive, Albus Dumbledore couldn't be classified as wholly human anymore. For that matter, the aged headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could not be considered wholly anything. All that remained was a shell, a melted and burnt shell almost unrecognizable save for the general shape of his arms and legs.

"It's a miracle that he did," replied Liggins. "Potter was relentless. We beat at the door for two minutes before Master Katur showed up. Had it not been for her, Potter would have likely burned the old man completely through."

Ken turned to face the major. He held no doubt. When Liggins had first given the authorization code, Ken hadn't been sure if he should believe the major or not. The code hadn't been used in almost thirty years. In fact, Ken had only been in the academy at the time of its circulation. It was only because senior military personnel were briefed about old, possibly relevant codes that he knew it. Liggins's knowledge of it said a lot about the man.

Maybe too much.

"You are sure?" Ken asked. "There can be no doubt, Major."

Liggins shook his head. "None, sir. I heard everything. When Master Katur broke through whatever was holding the door in place, there was no denying what we saw."

Ken narrowed his eyes. Something struck him as off about the whole situation, especially where it concerned Liggins. He didn't know why. He had no reason to distrust the man. Until being selected to command the mission that led _Axis_ to this remote section of the galaxy – wherever that was – he had never heard of Liggins. Not unusual. Admiral and major were far apart on the command structure when it came to fleet operations. Besides, like they assumed about Ken, most people undoubtedly thought Liggins to be dead or MIA.

He sighed. "You will not attack the Jedi, Major. You and your crew will return to the surface and continue your detail. However, you will send me updates every four hours using a secure channel that will be programmed into your comlink. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Liggins replied somewhat hesitantly.

"A question, Major?" the Admiral asked.

"Not so much a question, sir. Just a warning." Liggins cleared his throat, taking a moment to carefully choose his words. "These Jedi, they are mostly good people. They do what is right, at least what they feel as right, but when one of them falls, the others will do everything they can to redeem that fallen Jedi, even it means risking their life. Mastur Katur will likely fight us if we have to act against Potter."

Eton Ken turned back to the tank that held the half-dead old man. Liggins spoke like a man who had experience fighting Jedi. Only a few people in the galaxy could claim that, and most were criminals or bounty hunters. No, he did not trust the soldier one bit.

"Then let us hope that when the old man recovers he can shed a little more light on the situation. Pray that the light favors the Jedi and not him. Carry on, Major," Ken ordered.

Liggins snapped to attention, saluted, and left the Med Bay.

Ken did not bother to return the formality. He just stared, lost in the swirling blue liquid that tenderly treated wounds and healed flesh. In three days they would know the truth. Three days. Ken closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to some deity that people worshipped on one of the millions of planets in the galaxy. For the first time since leaving Coruscant he felt truly alone.

* * *

Hermione sidestepped the gargoyle as it opened to reveal the staircase. She muttered a quick thank you to the soldier that let her in. As it so happened, she knew the password; though, she could not remember anyone telling her. Once she gave it, the two soldiers shrugged and let her pass. Never having actually been in contact with a uniformed soldier other than the veterans that got together with her dad every now and again, she expected a little more trouble, but the soldiers actually seemed more than willing to let a complete stranger pass. Then again, they were in her school, not the other way around.

The staircase to the Headmaster's office was a long spiral set of stairs carved from the same stone that made up the walls. It was not far to the top, but the spiral made it seem longer. Hermione had felt the disturbance with Harry. She knew something terrible was happening. The burning smell that greeted her halfway down the corridor to the Headmaster's office only confirmed that. The fact that smell only grew stronger as she climbed the stairs added to it.

It smelt odd. Not that a burning smell didn't smell odd anyway, but this smell had a particularly metallic taste to it, almost coppery. She remembered a time when she was younger and her cousin stuck a copper in the light socket. Only her quick thinking had saved the girl's life, but the house smelled horrible for days after. The smell wafting down the staircase smelled like that.

Hermione heard the sobs before she got to the top. They were definitely from a male. She recognized them; she had heard them once before, a little over a year ago, when Harry appeared in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, bloody and carrying Cedric Diggory's lifeless body.

The day the Dark Lord returned.

Voldemort.

A shiver crept up her spin, but not from the mention of the mad wizard's name. She feared what she would find when she reached the source of those sobs. She knew that what ever happened up there was dark, perhaps darker than anything Voldemort could do. The taint of it filled the air, thick as a fog. Hermione swallowed and turned the last corner, gathering her courage. She had to be there for Harry.

And that's exactly who she saw.

Her best friend, the boy she had thought of as a brother, sat in the middle of the Headmaster's ruined, burned out office, his arms wrapped around his knees and tears streaming down his face. A woman, so incredibly beautiful that Hermione felt a pang of jealousy, had her arms around him. When she came through the door. Both Harry and the woman looked up at her. She didn't look at the woman, though. She looked at Harry.

Their eyes met. She saw his pain, his sorrow, and his regret. She saw the sins of his past and the dismal darkness of his future. She saw hopelessness. All at once, these visions flashed through her mind. She did not look away, because what she saw at the end made it all worth it. She saw beyond that hormone-induced reaction to him saving her from Lucius Malfoy to the deep secret she had hid even from herself.

Harry Potter was not her brother. He was her lover.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Harry," she replied. She wanted to smile but couldn't. That dark taint hung over her head too strong. It sapped all joy out of the room, all but that bit in the corner of her heart, the corner she found when she looked at Harry.

The older woman looked between Harry and Hermione. Her green eyes, a lighter shade than Harry's but just as vibrant, took her in, roaming over her form so intently that Hermione felt insecure even in her conservative Hogwarts uniform. Immediately, she did not like the woman or that she was so close to Harry.

"You know her, Harry?" the woman asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Master."

Master? Did he just call her master? Yeah, she definitely didn't like the woman.

"Do you trust her?"

Harry nodded again. "She was my best friend."

Was. That simple word broke Hermione's heart. Her bottom lip quivered, but she took a deep breath, blinked, and forced herself to calm down. Harry was older now. He had clearly been through a lot. She shouldn't jump to conclusions.

"Harry, I- " she started, but he cut her off.

"Hermione, you need to get out of here."

* * *

Luna did not stop to change. She ran through the corridors of the castle, bounding up and down staircases, twisting and turning through passages, until finally she came to the source of the pain she felt.

Harry.

The gargoyle at the end of the hallway stood closed. Two strangely armored men stood on either side of the gargoyle. Muggles, if she knew anything at all. She saw the head of one move up and down. Though she couldn't see his eyes through the dark visor, she knew that the soldier was eyeing her scantily clad form appreciatively. She pulled the robe tighter around her.

"Excuse me, Miss," the other soldier, the one who had not stared at her, said as she approached. "You can't be here. This is a secure area unless you have the password or permission from the Major." His voice was firm and crisp with the acute edge of professionalism.

Luna looked at the soldier quizzically and turned her head to the side quizzically. "You speak English?"

"I'm sorry?" the soldier asked.

"Queen's English. The language. You speak it?" Luna asked again.

"No, Miss. I only speak Galactic Basic," the soldier responded.

Luna continued to look at the solider curiously, causing the trained special operations commando, one of the most hardened operatives in the entire Galactic Republic, to shift uncomfortably. Luna, being Luna, gave him a smile. "Well, Galactic Basic sounds a great deal like the Queen's English. Perhaps you stole it from us like the Americans?" She paused, a thought sticking in her head. "Oh, nevermind," she huffed. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. "This won't do."

"What won't?" the soldier asked, too confused to question how they could have stolen the Queen's English.

Luna looked up at him, her silvery grey eyes wide and innocent. "I don't have the password, but my friend is up there. I need to see him."

"You need to see him," both soldiers repeated at once.

"Yes," Luna said nodding. "I need to go up there."

"You need to go up there," they repeated.

"Yep," she agreed. "But I need the password."

"Oh, I know that!' the soldier who had stared at her exclaimed excitedly. "It's Peppermint Dandies!"

The gargoyle leaped aside, revealing the staircase to the Headmaster's office.

"Thanks," Luna told the guards. She smiled, waved, and headed up the staircase.

It would take the guards the greater part of two hours to figure out what had just happened.

* * *

Harry struggled to get his words right. He didn't want to hurt the girl that had once been his friend. He still cared for her, but there was no way Hermione could understand. She didn't know what he had been through since he left. She hadn't suffered like he had. She hadn't trained so hard and so long only to…

Fail.

He failed. He gave into the Dark Side of the Force, the anathema of the Jedi Order. Dumbledore was likely dead because of it. Harry had returned to Earth, saved Hogwarts, and killed its leader all in a matter of hours.

"Hermione, you need to get out of here." The words came out colder than he wanted them to, but they were also thick with his desperation. He was dangerous. She had to leave for her own sake.

"W-what?" the girl asked, her voice shaky.

He looked up at her, his dark green eyes full of pain, and said what he had to: "I might hurt you. I've done a horrible thing."

Hermione swallowed. Her eyes watered. She shook her head. "No, Harry. Whatever it is, Professor Dumbledore can help you. He will make it better."

Her words tore open the wound fresh. He hung his head. A wave of sympathy rushed to him through the Force. Master Katur touched his back, running her fingers up and down his spine in comfort. He felt a bit of the tension relax from his shoulders.

Harry steadied his voice the best he could. "Hermione, Professor Dumbledore is gone."

The girl, so beautiful in her naivety, took a step back. "Where did he go?"

It took everything within him not to burst out in another fit of sobs. He had to tell her though. She deserved to hear it from the man who did the deed. "He's gone Hermione," he said again. Hadn't he meant to say dead? Why couldn't he say dead?

Hermione caught on despite his ambiguity. She shook her head. Her whole body trembled. "No, he can't be. H-how?" He knew she feared the answer.

"Harry killed him, of course."

All three people in the room turned to the door. Hermione looked startled but not as much as the two Jedi. Neither had felt the petite girl with wavy, dirty blonde hair approaching. "Hello, Harry, Hermione, woman-I-don't-know."

Luna didn't distract the bushy haired bookworm for long. Hermione stared down at the blonde. "H-how do you know that?"

Luna gave her a sad smile. "Because he has fallen."

Hermione turned back to Harry, horror, fear, and something even more painful wracked her face. Judgment.

Harry took all three in, soaking up her reaction through the Force. It hurt, but he needed to feel it. It gave him the courage to say what he had to say. It strengthened his resolve. "Hermione, leave. I don't want to hurt you, too."

And surprisingly, the girl did not argue. She nodded, turned, and ran down the staircase without another word. Harry felt her fear as she ran. The fear was because of him.

Master Katur pulled away from Harry. She stood and eyed the blonde. "You should probably go as well, Miss."

Luna shook her head. "I think I will stay. Thank you for the concern, though. It's good to know that you both haven't fallen to the dark like Harry."

Harry sighed. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to be as stern with Luna. The girl had a calming effect on him. He could already feel his mind clearing, once again opening to the full current of the Living Force, allowing him to touch it, to feel it. His senses heightened. His awareness expanded. And finally, he could think clearly beyond the anger and grief.

Harry stood as well. "Thank you, Luna."

The petite girl smiled brightly.

Harry turned to Master Katur and bowed his head. In a solemn voice, he stated, "I submit myself to the will of the Jedi Council. I have taken another life in the heat of the moment and fallen to the Dark Side of the Force."

Master Katur nodded gravely and patted Harry on the shoulder. "The man is not dead, yet, Padawan. Let us pray he stays that way." Her face darkened. "What you have done is a terrible thing, Harry. The Council will not be lenient if he does not live. But you must push that from your mind for now. We have to continue along the path of securing our ship a landing area. It will be much more difficult now. Keep your mind on the present, Padawan."

"Yes, Master," Harry told her.

"The let us go," Katur told him. "Major Liggins will be back with the transport shuttle by the time we reach the rendezvous point."

"I might need to change first," Luna told the Jedi Master. "Seeing as how I am coming and all."

The Jedi Master turned towards Luna, fixing the girl with one of her harshest glares, a glare saved for Harry when he had done something particularly annoying. "That will not be possible, I'm afraid. Where we are going is not fit for children."

But Luna Lovegood did not back down from the Jedi Master. She fixed the stern woman with an equally piercing glare, one that clearly stated what she felt. Speaking as only a witch with excellent command of her magic could, Luna reminded both Harry and Master Katur that she had power, too.

"You will not take him away from me again."

Master Katur's eyes widened. Her hand flinched as if to go to her lightsaber. She stopped herself. The muscles in her fingers relaxed and she dropped her hand to her side. She sighed. "So be it. We will find you more suitable clothing aboard the ship."

Harry knew better than to question his master. Matters were settled. The two Jedi left Dumbledore's office with a bubbly blonde witch in tow.

* * *

Professor Minerva McGonagall prided herself on being capable of swift and decisive actions. That's why, when Hermione Granger showed up in the Great Hall as she was speaking with Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she did not hesitate. After a few questions, McGonagall, with the assistance of Madam Bones and several aurors, led a procession of teachers and law enforcement agents towards the Headmaster's office to investigate. Hermione followed at a distance.

They made it halfway down the corridor to the gargoyle before they saw the soldiers and stopped.

"Those are the muggles you told us aided you in the battle?" Madam Bones asked.

McGonagall nodded. "Those weapons they have took out more than three dozen acromantula and several deatheaters. As far as I know, they didn't lose a single man."

Madam Bones turned to the eight aurors who came with them. "Wands at the ready. Do not hesitate with your shots. If it comes to blows, they will try and kill you. Don't allow them to."

She didn't say the words, but the aurors knew what she meant. Kill them before they kill you. The aurors pulled out their wands. The four professors with McGonagall did the same. Hermione took a step back behind the group and found a spot on the floor to stare at.

Stone scraped across stone as the gargoyle moved aside. Three people emerged from the staircase behind it. The first, a striking woman McGonagall had not seen before, stepped lightly, gracefully moving with purpose, not wasting a step. She moved like a predator, a fighter. McGonagall drew her own wand.

Next, Potter emerged. His face was red and his eyes were puffy. He had been crying. The tips of his fingers on his left hand were blackened. The metallic cylinder he had used to fight the deatheaters was nowhere to be seen. He appeared unarmed, but he, too, moved with purposefulness and grace. McGonagall did not trust his apparent defenselessness.

The final person surprised her. It probably shouldn't have considering that the person was none other than Luna Lovegood, but still, the principle of the thing dictated that her response be shock when a student appears with two dangerous unknowns, one of which was an alleged murderer, savoir of the wizarding world or not.

"Stop, in the name of the Ministry of Magic," Madam Bones ordered, stepping forward and leveling her wand.

The two soldiers acted immediately. In an instant, their strange weapons were at their shoulders and aimed. A red dot appeared on McGonagall's chest; another appeared on Madam Bones's forehead.

The female stranger stepped forward, her hands up. "We mean you no harm. We only want to return to our ship."

Madam Bones did not lower her wand. "I am afraid that will not be possible at the moment. We have to detain you for a short while. A murder has been reported and one of your party has been named a suspect."

"Ah, yes," the woman said. "The man is not dead. There was an unfortunate accident. He has been taken to our ship for healing."

Professor McGonagall gasped. "It's true?! Harry attacked the Headmaster?"

The green-eyed boy met McGonagall's eyes and nodded once. The Transfiguration Mistress paled.

Madam Bones caught the exchange. Her features remained marred by a tight frown. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter will have to come with us until this can all be cleared up or the Headmaster returns. At this moment he is charged with assault on the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."

The strange woman sighed and held out her right hand. The metallic cylinder that hung at her waist unsnapped from her robes and jumped into her open palm. She closed her fingers around the shaft. A _snap-hiss_ sounded and a purple beam of light extended 1.4 meters from the top of the cylinder. She brought it up in front of her, grasping the cylinder with both hands. Her right foot dropped back.

"I cannot allow that."

All the wizards and witches – with the exception of Luna, who kept smiling sweetly – tensed at the woman's proclamation. None of them knew what the woman was capable of, but none of them wanted to find out. They all readied their most lethal spells.

Then everything changed. Harry Potter stepped forward and laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. He whispered something to her. She turned her head slightly and whispered back, indignation on her face. They argued for a moment, and finally, she nodded. She brought the cylinder down and the purple light deactivated.

Harry looked up at Madam Bones and held out his wrists, thumbs facing the ceiling. "I turn myself in, Madam Bones. There is no reason for more blood to be shed on my account."

McGonagall watched the whole ordeal silently. The aurors stepped up and placed him in restraints. Each took one of his arms, and they escorted him out. The last thing she saw of Harry as he turned the corner was him look at Hermione Granger with a sad, longing expression. The young Gryffindor did not look up from floor.

* * *

Major Liggins filed into the shuttle behind his men. As per protocol he went seat by seat and ensured that every soldier had his safety harnesses in proper place. Once finished, he took his own seat, fastened the harness, and gave word for the pilot to take off. The shuttle rumbled and shook as it took to the air above the flight deck and maneuvered out into open space for transport to the planet's surface.

He closed his eyes and cut off his thoughts from the day's events, a trick almost every soldier mastered soon after first seeing battle. It was essential to maintaining sanity. Soldiers simply saw too much pain every day to carry it around with them constantly.

Liggins, however, did not slip into the trance-like state that most of his men did. He blocked off everything about his surroundings and reached out with his mind, touching the source of power that he had been showed years ago. Using his limited knowledge of the Force, he called it around him, allowing it to fill his mind. He stretched, mentally, deep into the recesses of space, just as he had been taught. After a few seconds, he found his target. Gently, he touched it.

A voice sounded in his head.

_You have completed your task?_

The voice made his head scream with pain. The pure power of it sent a wave of nausea into his throat. Suddenly, he felt very cold. But through all those adverse feelings, he sent an affirmative through his thoughts. _The seed has been planted. They no longer trust the Jedi. The Republic will not stand in our way when we face them._

He could feel the laughter coming from the voice. It rumbled through his skull like a wrecking ball.

_You have done well, my apprentice. Soon, the Jedi will lead us to the Stole. Then you will be given the honor of sacrificing them for the glory of the Sith Empire. Behold, my emissaries approach even as we speak. The dead come to serve._

An image of dark shapes running filled his vision despite his closed eyes. At that moment, in the silence of the transport shuttle, Liggins knew fear like war had never shown him.

* * *

They ran. Over fields and hills, through rivers and caves, they ran. The scent grew. Their hunger grew. One thought drove them. One purpose. They thirsted.

_Jedi._

**A/N: Again, thank you all for the many reviews and the support. I appreciate knowing that people are enjoying the story. That being said, please continue to review. It's not hard. A simple yes or no if you want. I will reply to any review given unless asked not to! THANKS AGAIN! READ AND REVIEW!**


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